Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.

A/N: This idea was sort of inspired by the manga series Juvenile Orion. There was a scene in Juvenile Orion and this…is kind of a rip-off of that scene. Kind of.

And, because this has been bothering me, I have to add that by "hold" I don't mean "have sex with". Just to clarify. It's totally innocent.

He couldn't have been older than thirteen. He was just a child. He was a beautiful child with long, silver hair and the brightest eyes I had ever seen. He didn't look like a demon at first glance; he was just a child, after all. But with his ethereal beauty that swam around his presence like a blinding light, it wasn't so unfeasible to say he was a demon. Nothing except a demon could be so beautiful. Nothing except a demon could look at me like that.

He was the epitome of loneliness. He looked up at me not with contempt or fear, but the plea to cease breathing. He wanted to die. This beautiful child, curled up in the corner of a filthy, dark room wanted to die. I saw no reason to let him live. He was a demon. It was my job – my obligation – to kill him. But the way he looked at me made me fall to my knees.

I had never felt so empty before. Perhaps I had always been empty and it was only now that I could see it clearly. The longer he looked at me, the more certain I was that I was empty. I lived a life that led to death and nothing else. Feelings were fleeting and insignificant. Nothing ever had any meaning.

I was kneeling before him, I realized, and he was staring me down expectantly. I knew that he was waiting for me to kill him. I knew that he wanted me to kill him. He had nothing to live for. He was something thrown away, something of no worth or value, something that people looked upon with disgust or indifference. He gave nothing to the world and he received nothing.

It was nostalgic. I had known this demon once. I knew it. The empty feeling was one I had felt before; the strange sense of duty I knew only distantly resurfaced and ultimately was what brought me to my knees.

Distantly, vicariously, I took his hand and kissed it. I could not understand why I had done it. I could only understand the need to do it. I was obligated to, and I didn't even know why. At the time, it really didn't seem to matter all that much. The boy didn't like it, though. He jerked his hand away, glaring at me fiercely.

"What the hell is your problem?!" he spat. His eyes seemed to light up with the feeling of anger. "Just kill me already!"

"Why do you want to die?" I asked. Maybe it should have been obvious, but I still didn't understand. Something wasn't right about it.

"Why do you think? Look around, moron! Does it look like anyone wants me here?! That's what you're here for, isn't it? To kill the demon, right? Why don't you just do it already?!"

There was something there, clawing at me from the back of my mind, a memory I never had, the feeling that I wanted him. "I want you here."

His eyes widened. He was confused and angry. He thought he was being jerked around. His hands clenched into fists. "You," he said. It was a scoff, something he'd meant to say but couldn't finish. It was an abandoned thought and at the same time a surrender. He didn't believe me, but he wanted to. He replaced the lost words with something else, but it was too late. I already knew it wasn't what he was going to say. "You don't know me."

"I think I do," I murmured. It was more to myself than anything. I was trying to sort through my jumbled memories.

He was infuriated. His nostrils flared, his eyes widened, and he scoffed incredulously. He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. He was realizing something. He was realizing what I realized. He saw that same nonexistent thing I saw.

"Why?" he inquired finally, in a small voice. He looked so sad I thought I myself might cry. He looked lonely.

"Because you are…" He watched me expectantly, but said nothing. "Because you are my master."

He looked at me funny. He didn't believe me. I didn't believe me. But it was there, that nagging feeling, that strange obligation to protect him, to make him smile, to alter that awful, lonely face. He slowly stood; I stayed where I was, on my knees, bowing to the sad, beautiful child.

"Then…" He placed his hands on my face and tilted my head up towards him. I looked directly into his eyes. Neither of our gazes wavered.

And then he started to cry. He threw his arms around my shoulders as he sobbed violently. I wrapped my arms around his tiny body, holding him as gently as I could, silent as I listened to his sobbing.

"Then I order you to hold me."

It doesn't matter which life it is. It doesn't matter if I have a heart or not. I will always belong to him.